


angel of small death

by autumnalbee (redherring)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Angst, Bathroom Sex, M/M, Military Uniforms, Oral Sex, Power Bottom John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 16:45:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4027333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redherring/pseuds/autumnalbee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James attends a military ball, where he runs into a former friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	angel of small death

**Author's Note:**

> I've twisted canon a bit here; John is already back from the war but hasn't met Sherlock yet, and James is still in the army.
> 
> [Cross-posted to LJ](http://shirelockhomes.livejournal.com/2518.html), because I have one of those now.

The very last place on earth James wants to be is here, and yet here he is, in full dress uniform, a glass of champagne in his left hand while his right is clenched next to his side. McIntyre is making jokes, and James smiles along as though he’s been paying attention. The champagne is good, he has to admit, though he’s always been more of scotch man himself, and he has to admit he’d rather have a finger of whiskey in his glass than anything else.  
  
“James!” A voice behind him—Murray, he realizes a moment later—exclaims, clapping a hand on his shoulder. Murray is only a few inches shorter than he is, but his personality takes up the space of three men, and he’s calling out the nicknames of the other people around them and starting a ruckus. McIntyre’s eyebrows curve inward just a hair, and soon it’s Murray causing the laughs and smiles. A few stragglers join the group at that point, and James feels free enough to slip away, downing the rest of his champagne and setting it on the refreshment table with the other used glasses.  
  
He turns to head toward whatever table he’s been assigned to sit at, and he hears someone clear their throat loudly. Something’s creaking, and he turns with a small frown.  
  
_John_.  
  
He’s in full dress, like most everyone else, though he’s forgone the sword for an aluminum cane. His hair’s been cut since the last time James saw him, in the hospital. When James turns fully to see him, John’s shoes click together as he moves his cane to his left hand so his right is free for a salute.  
  
“Watson.” James manages a small smile, returning the salute and motioning for him to be at ease. There’s a bubble expanding in his chest, and he’s not quite sure if it’s a good or bad thing yet. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”  
  
“Didn’t expect to be here, sir.” John nodded once, then grinned, returning the cane to his right hand and clutching at the rubber grip. “But it’s an excuse to get out of the flat. Couldn’t miss it.”  
  
James’ smile grows. “How’s the arm?”  
  
“Good. Yeah, good.” John shrugged with his good shoulder. “I’ve almost got full control back in my hand again, which is. Good.”  
  
“Glad to hear it.” Remembering himself, James pulls out the chair next to his, reserved for James’ plus one. He’d told the organizers he wouldn’t bring one, but they apparently hadn’t listened, and for once he was grateful for someone not following an order. “Sit. Your leg must be bothering you.”  
  
John grimaces, looking at the chair. “I’m fine, thanks.”  
  
“It wasn’t a suggestion, Watson,” James says, and he realizes too late that his voice is just slightly too harsh, just a bit too unfriendly, that it might not be taken as an attempt at joviality.  
  
If John notices, he doesn’t show it. He smiles again, looking at James with _that look_ , Three-Continents Watson’s flirty smirk and twinkling eyes, and James isn’t quite sure what to say, so he doesn’t anything, and the bubble in his chest expands and it almost hurts. But John sits with a small, contented sigh, though he looks a bit stiff and uncomfortable, and sets his cane to his left so it isn’t between their chairs.  
  
It takes James a moment to sit in his own chair. John’s profile is for the most part as it’s always been, but there’s a sadness in his eyes, a bit of gray in his complexion that wasn’t even there when he was in hospital. Of course, that was before he’d received his discharge papers. James had had to have someone else deliver them for him; he couldn’t do that to John.  
  
But James sits, and John’s smiling again. “How is everyone?” he asks.  
  
“They’re all here.” James shrugged. “You could ask them yourself.”  
  
“How are you, then? Are they treating you right? I talked to Murray earlier, said the new bloke was all right.”  
  
James nodded, reaching for the carafe of water and pouring John, then himself, a glass. “He is. He’s not you, though.”  
  
John licks his lips. James wonders if he’s crossed a fine line he wasn’t aware of, but then John’s smiling again. “How much time d’you think we’ve got?”  
  
“I—“  
  
Before James can answer, John’s standing and reaching for his cane. “Toilets. Be right back.” He smirks, then limps off, the rubber end on his cane squeaking just faintly every time it hits the hardwood floor.  
  
James watches him go. If they were younger, he’d follow John into the toilets. They’d make sure no one else was in, and they’d claim a stall to themselves, slamming and locking the door shut before one of them was shoved up against it. If he concentrates, James can feel John’s hands, still dirty and rough, sliding up his neck, pulling off his shirt—  
  
But that’s not a line of thoughts he should go down, not now.  
  
The toilets are on the other side of the ballroom, just across from where James is sitting, and John’s finally reached the door. He pushes it halfway open, then stops, looking down before turning his head back to look at James. He licks his lips with the slightest tilt of his head, then disappears behind the door.  
  
James knows what that look means. John’s given it to him before, and he’s never regretted following after him. But things are different now; John’s injured and still recovering, so surely…?  
  
He sighs. He knows he’ll regret it for months if he doesn’t follow.  
  
No one seems to notice him as he stands and walks to the toilets, which is a bigger relief than he’s willing to admit. The door, however, didn’t lead directly to the toilets, but to a hallway, and James checked a few doors before he found the men’s room.  
  
He goes down the line of stalls. The first two are unoccupied. The third is closed, but not locked, and the fourth is also empty.  
  
James can feel his blood rushing south as he knocks on the third stall.  
  
The door opens on its own after the second knock. James steps inside, his gaze trained on the floor as he locks the door behind him; he knows if he looks at John, he’ll be too distracted to close the door.  
  
He looks up. John’s just standing there, leaning on his cane, and for a moment James wonders why the hell they’re in a stall if all John wanted to do was talk and stare at each other.  
  
Three things happen in the next two seconds:  
  
1\. John steps toward James, letting his cane clatter to the floor.  
  
2\. John falls to his knees, his left leg jutting out in front of him, the range of motion not quite what it used to be. His other leg is tucked up under him.  
  
3\. James can’t breathe.  
  
“All right?” John asks, his brows furrowing when James doesn’t reply immediately—he’s not sure he can’t open his mouth and actually form words. Finally, though, James manages a nod, and his cock is bare almost instantly, his belt undone and his pants and trousers shoved down mid-thigh.  
  
John grabs at his hips, pushing James’ back against the door and levering himself up to reach James’ cock. “Good.”  
  
James’ memory gets a bit fuzzy after that.  
  
John sucks cock the way he does everything else—in short, he does it thoroughly. He takes all of James in his mouth, gagging only a bit as James feels the head hit the back of John’s throat. James is frozen, not wanting to hurt John—and, god, his leg must be _aching_ on that floor—but John is off him again before he’s able to think beyond that. And then his mouth is back again, his tongue teasing at the underside of James’ cock.  
  
A gasp escapes James’ throat. John’s eyes are closed, his long golden lashes curling upwards and making him look so much younger as his head bobs back and forth. James can remember the way John looks when he’s sleeping, like he’s a fresh-faced twenty-something again. John opens his eyes, those pretty cobalt-blue eyes, and looks up at James with fire and intensity, and oh, if that doesn’t nearly do it on its own. James has to tug at John’s hair—still short, of course he’d keep it short—so he doesn’t finish too soon.  
  
He’s almost embarrassed, but John doesn’t seem to care; he’s reaching for the toilet tissue dispenser as leverage to stand. James tries to help, but John swats his hands away.  
  
“Fuck me,” he growls, and James feels a shiver run down his spine.  
  
John pushes him onto the toilet lid, yanking James’ trousers and pants further down. He’s unbuckling himself now, pulling his own pants down, and his cock bobs out, red and hot and drooling pre-ejaculate. He kicks his cane slightly as he stands over James.  
  
James’ mind is just clear enough to ask. “What about—“  
  
John rips open a packet of lube with his teeth—James briefly wonders how he managed to make it appear; he knows John keeps one in his wallet but he hasn’t seen it—and slicks up James’ cock. “Don’t worry about it.” He uses the same hand to reach underneath him, and— _Christ_.  
  
He’s pulling a black plug out of himself.  
  
Finally, finally, James is able to actually form cohesive words as he stares at the still-slick plug in John’s hand. “You—are bloody _gorgeous_ , Watson.”  
  
John smirks. His mouth then forms a silent moan as he pulls the plug out completely. “You did always tell me to be prepared for anything.”  
  
James can’t help it; he wraps his arms around John’s waist, pulls him close for a deep kiss, his grip tightening. If he could stay here, kissing John Watson in a toilet stall for the rest of his life, he doesn’t know that he’d ever stop.  
  
When they separate, they’re both panting, and John wastes no time. He slides down onto James’ cock, and the filthy sound of skin slapping and lube squelching fills James’ ears, and they both moan.  
  
They sit there, joined, for a second that feels like almost an eternity to James. John braces his right hand on James’ shoulder for balance, and he starts moving, slowly rolling his hips. James’ head falls back, resting against the wall behind him, his hands gripping John’s waist.  
  
It’s been almost a year—a year since he’s been inside John, a year since he’s been inside anyone. He’s not going to last long, he knows, but if this is the last time he’ll have John on his lap, kissing at his neck and making those beautiful noises, he’s going to damn well make the most of it.  
  
James’ fingers dig into John’s skin, and he pulls at John’s cock as he starts thrusting upward; long, full movements that make John’s eyes bulge a bit and his mouth chant “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” John’s hand on his shoulder tightens, and his lips crash against James’ own.  
  
It doesn’t take long after that.  
  
James’ voice is garbled, somewhere between a growl and a moan. “John, I’m going to—“  
  
John whines against James’ lips, a high-pitched thing that probably would have echoed through the toilets. “Do it. _Fuck_ yeah, do it, James, come inside me. I need—“  
  
James moves up into him one last time, apparently hitting John’s prostate as they both cry out. John circles his hips as James comes, and James continues pumping John’s cock until he’s spilling down James’ hand with a stifled sigh.  
  
Neither of them make an attempt to move. James’ field of vision is still blurry, and he doesn’t trust his legs to hold himself up. He wraps his arms around John again as John nuzzles into his neck, clutching onto him to keep his balance.  
  
Once their breathing is back under control, John stands, clearing his throat and turning a light shade of pink as he slips the plug back inside.  
  
“Don’t have anywhere else to put it,” he says, and James can’t help but laugh.  
  
James wipes his hand off with a bit of toilet tissue. There’s a drop or two on his sleeve cuffs, but nothing too noticeable. “How’s your leg after all that?” he asks, and John freezes.  
  
“It’s fine.” He picks up his cane. “Probably be a bit sore tomorrow.”  
  
They smile at each other.  
  
John leaves the stall first, with James not too far behind. It’s a wonder no one had walked in on them, but as soon as they reached the sinks, a group of blokes James wasn’t acquainted with stormed in, chanting some fight song he’d never heard of. They ignore James and John completely.  
  
“It was good to see you, Major,” John says quietly once they’re out of the toilets. The hallway is empty, though James can still hear the muffled orchestra music playing in the ballroom.  
  
“Likewise, Watson.”  
  
“I should probably get back to my table. They’ll be wondering where I am.”  
  
“I’ms sure they are.”  
  
John smiles a bit, though he looks sad now, sadder than he’d looked earlier. James wants to take it away from him, take the bullet and the limp and the scar on his shoulder. But John grabs his arm, squeezes it gently. “Take care of yourself, sir.”  
  
James nods. “You too, Watson.” He pauses. “John.”  
  
There’s a moment that they look at each other. John licks his lips, and he looks like he’s about to say something, something important, but then he turns his head, then the rest of his body, and he walks away, opening the door into the ballroom. The music gets louder as the door opens, and softer as it closes. 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know - the lube, the plug, it's all very convenient, isn't it? The more I wrote, the more I threw reality out the window. Ah, well.


End file.
